The Butler's Daughter (7 page)

Juliana placed her napkin on the table and rose. “It's been a long day. You need some rest. You're falling asleep in your chair.” She tucked a stray wisp of blond hair behind her ear and leaned across the table to blow out the candles.

Hunter had a beautiful image of her face radiant with golden light before the candles were snuffed out. The room darkened around them, shadows settling. Juliana's laughter touched his ears. “I probably should have turned on the lights before I did that.”

He reached out to stop her, making contact with her arm. “No, don't. It's fine.” His voice tightened. “But take off your dress and leave it on the floor on the way out.”

“My dress?” Her voice was hesitant. Alarmed.

Hunter smiled despite his fatigue. He squeezed her arm gently. “The servants will expect some evidence of a romantic evening.”

“Oh.”

“I'll close my eyes, I promise.” He released her arm and obediently closed his eyes. “Go ahead.”

Never had he imagined that the whisper of fabric against skin could be so tantalizing. A certain part of his anatomy took special note of the sigh of midnight-blue fabric settling onto the carpet. “Your panties and bra, too.”

She hissed in her breath, but her voice was calm. “My father warned me about rich boys like you.”

“Your father is a very smart man,” Hunter retorted, “but you're safe with me, Cinderella.”

“Don't call me that.” The shifting of her feet and a light thud indicated her compliance with his request.

A vision of her naked before him in the high heels she'd been wearing turned his body to pulsing awareness.

“I'm leaving my shoes, too. Don't trip over them.”

Hunter grit his teeth, hearing two plops as if she'd tossed them in different directions.

“Good night.”

He counted her footsteps across the room; his breath exploded in his chest when she seemed to stop before reaching the door connecting their rooms. He reminded himself that asking her to remove her clothes was his lamebrained idea.

“Hunter?”

“Yes?” God, he hoped she wasn't going to do something ridiculous like ask him whether she could expect to find him in her bed when she woke up. Hunter couldn't trust himself with the answer to that question.

“Ross and Lexi's cook appears to be missing. The staff can't locate her. You might want to check into it.”

The door closed firmly behind her. Hunter sat alone in the dark. Cinderella had just given him a nugget of her trust.

Exhaustion finally catching up with her, Juliana slept past noon on Sunday. She peered blurry-eyed at the alarm clock, then leaped out of bed, anxiety rising like mercury within her when she realized she hadn't even heard the baby. She yanked on a bathrobe and shoved her feet into slippers and hurried out into the hall. Cort's crib in the nursery was empty, but her anxiety eased when she heard his characteristic happy chortles behind the closed door to Hunter's room.

She knocked on the door and at Hunter's gruff command to enter, she found Cort in the middle of the bed, propped squarely on Hunter's broad naked chest, patting at the newspaper his godfather was trying to read.

Hunter lowered the newspaper and Juliana forgot to breathe. She'd dated in university, had seen a few male bodies, but she'd never have described any of them as dangerous. Or beautiful. But Hunter, with sleep-tousled hair, that devilish whisk of morning stubble and all those tanned knotted muscles contrasting sharply with Cort's smooth baby-perfect skin sent a shock wave of desire to the core of her being. The sheet barely covering his waist left her little doubt that he was naked under there.

“Good afternoon.” He flexed an eyebrow at her. “Sleep
well? I'm teaching Cort to read the financial pages. Think his father would approve?” He indicated Ross's picture dominating the front page of the financial section and his suddenly misty gaze melted Juliana's heart into a puddle.

“Very much.” Juliana fought back a sob. Okay, so marrying this carelessly wealthy, mysterious man was the craziest, most reckless thing she'd ever done. But seeing him lying there with the baby on his chest and obvious uncharacteristic emotion dampening his eyes made her want to be crazy and reckless and forget that they would never be equals in this relationship. Needs she'd been denying since Hunter had proposed their arranged marriage surfaced in her heart: the need to be loved and protected; the need to have a home and children of her own.

Juliana quickly closed the door to those imprudent thoughts. “You didn't have to get up with him, I would have—”

“A phone call woke me anyway.” His voice lost its dispassionate edge. “The autopsy results are back. Ross and Lexi were positively identified.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “They died instantly and didn't suffer. I hope that will be some comfort to your father, and you.”

Juliana's legs couldn't hold her up anymore. At least Ross and Lexi hadn't suffered. She sat down on the edge of the bed, aware of the precise number of inches between her thigh and Hunter's large feet. Cort, his smile lighting up at the sight of her, crawled over the ridges of Hunter's body toward her.

Juliana laughed, almost crying as Hunter gently kept the baby from straying accidentally into any sensitive areas. “Come here, pumpkin.” She stretched out her arms to Cort, love and adoration for this baby twining bittersweetly with her grief. Cort tumbled off Hunter's knee, landing in a nest of sheets and blankets.

“Oopsie,” Juliana exclaimed, scooping him up. She peppered his sweet rounded cheek and the button-tip of his nose with kisses, glancing past her precious charge to Hunter. She had to keep Cort safe. “We'll get the marriage license first thing tomorrow?”

“Yes. I'll protect you both with my life, Juliana.”

She fitted her arms more snugly around Cort. “Please, God, don't let it come to that.”

 

J
ULIANA FELT HER FEARS
darken along with the ominous clouds building on the horizon as the afternoon wore on. She'd called the hospital, hoping to talk to her father only to be told that he was still holding his own, but unable to communicate. Juliana asked the nurse to keep her posted.

Her call to Gord Nevins at the estate to discuss the funeral arrangements was just as disquieting. Nonnie Wilson, the cook, was still unaccounted for. Gord had phoned the cook's emergency next-of-kin number and spoken to the cook's sister. But as yet, the sister hadn't called back to say that she'd located Nonnie.

Juliana passed the information on to Hunter, who was sequestered in his study, making calls and going through several boxes of files he'd requested from the Collingwood Corporation. Hunter had told her that the sweep of the Collingwood Corporation offices hadn't turned up any listening devices.

Juliana wasn't sure whether this was comforting news or not. She wanted the killer to be caught, but she hated the idea that someone in Ross's company may have been involved.

When her cell phone rang just before five, as she was enlisting Marquise's help in carrying out her romantic secret plans for her and Hunter's wedding night, Juliana put Cort down in his playpen and rushed to answer, praying it
was good news from the hospital. Maybe her father had regained consciousness.

To her surprise, it was Hilde Epstein, the elderly woman who occupied the condo alongside Juliana's in Cleveland. They often met for tea and watched chick flick videos together. Hilde had been teaching Juliana an old form of lace making called tatting. “Juliana, I'm sorry to bother you, but you did tell me you'd be out of town this weekend, didn't you?”

Juliana was instantly cautious. “Yes, I'm visiting friends,” she said, walking down the hall toward Hunter's study. “Is something the matter?”

“I'm afraid someone's broken into your home and they were quite messy about it. They forced your door open and went through every drawer and cupboard in sight. They must have been after smaller valuables because they didn't touch the TV or your sound system. I've called the police.”

Juliana's heart thumped. Someone had broken into her home and disabled the security alarm.

She barged into Hunter's study without knocking. He was on the phone. He looked up frowning, but quickly ended his call and rose to offer assistance when she silently gestured at her cell phone.

Her eyes pleaded with him as he laid a calming hand on her shoulder. She spoke into the receiver, hoping he would catch on by her words. “I'm glad you called me, Hilde. But you shouldn't have gone into my condo. The burglar could have still been in there.”

Hunter grabbed a pad on his desk and wrote: “Don't tell where you are.”

Juliana nodded.

“What should I do when the police arrive?” Hilde asked.

Juliana gripped Hunter's arm and repeated Hilde's question.

“Officer's name. Report number,” he wrote out.

“Just get the officer's name and report number and I'll call him when I get back. I'm not sure when I'll be home. I may stay here for another week.” Juliana felt sick lying to her neighbor like this. Thank God there was nothing in the condo to indicate her relationship to the Collingwoods. She didn't have so much as a phone number written down. She shredded her phone bills as soon as she paid them.

“What about the door, dear?” Hilde asked.

“Don't worry about it. I can call a locksmith from here.”

Juliana quickly ended the call before Hilde could ask any more questions.

The fear stamped on Juliana's face as she disconnected the call completely undermined Hunter's pragmatic resolve to keep his bride-to-be at a distance when they were in private. She looked paler than a porcelain saucer and about ready to shatter.

“They know where I was living with Cort,” she whispered, her eyes wide. She took a step toward him, then paused uncertainly, clasping her hands as if attempting to trap her emotions between her palms. “What if they find out we're with you?”

Hunter's defenses toppled with a silent crash that shook the foundation of his life. The break-in at her condo indicated the killer was intent on finding her and Cort. Finishing the job.

Though his mind warned him against behaving rashly, trusting too deeply, too soon, he anchored her against his chest and promised himself that they wouldn't live in fear for the rest of their lives—assuming their marriage lasted longer than he anticipated. Then he called Investigator Bradshaw, the Bureau of Criminal Investigation investiga
tor with the New York State Police, who was the lead detective in the homicide investigation. Maybe the killer had been careless and left some fingerprints in Juliana's condo.

 

“A
ND
?” R
OSS AND
L
EXI'S
killer waited expectantly for the update on the butler's daughter and the baby.

“She's gone. Her car's gone. No sign of her passport or personal documents so she must have them with her. I went through her papers. I have a checking account and credit card numbers.” He paused slightly, significantly, “And she has a cell phone. She likely has it with her. I have the number.”

The killer jotted down the number on a thick creamy sheet of stationery from the desk drawer, reveling in this stroke of good fortune. It was amazing what money could buy.

 

L
ATE
S
UNDAY NIGHT
Darren returned home to Ithaca to the empty clapboard four-bedroom house that he'd bought for Annette within walking distance of the campus. It wasn't a mansion, but he thought she'd love the clean simple lines of the house, the dark oak floors and the yard spacious enough for children. He slammed the front door behind him, frustrated by a nine-hour round-trip drive that hadn't achieved his objective.

The doorman at Annette's apartment had told him she'd left early Saturday morning in a limo with a driver and bodyguard. He was certain she had to be at the Collingwood Estate. Where else would she be?

He'd fought his way through the horde of journalists demanding admission at the gates and gave his name to the security guard, who'd called up to the house, then told him that he was very sorry, but Ms. York wasn't receiving any visitors.

She didn't want to see
him.
His ego still throbbed from the bruising.

Like the hundreds of other people keeping vigil outside the gates, Darren had camped out overnight, hoping his love might leave the estate by car the next day and catch sight of him.

God he missed her. Missed how perfectly they'd fit together like a very elegant proof of a known mathematical result—clever and aesthetically pleasing. With her parents and her sister gone and no longer putting ideas in her head, it would be easier to convince Annette that they still belonged together. That he was all she'd ever needed in a husband.

Darren grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and twisted off the cap. His Adam's apple bobbed as he downed half the bottle in one gulp. Whether she liked it or not, Annette was going to see him. The funeral was scheduled for Wednesday.

He'd cancel his classes so he could attend.

 

M
ONDAY MORNING
Juliana felt buoyed by a call from the ICU nurse; her father had spent a good night. After breakfast she went with Hunter to apply for a marriage license in the Manhattan city clerk's office with hopes that her father was rallying and she'd be able to talk to him later today—tomorrow at the latest.

Juliana balked at once again leaving Cort in Valentina's care, but Hunter was adamant that Cort was safer in the secured building. Reluctantly, she had to admit he was right.

They didn't need blood tests to get married, but there was a twenty-four-hour waiting period. They'd have to return the next day for the ceremony.

After they'd obtained the license, they stopped at
Hunter's lawyer's office. Hunter signed a new will reflecting his anticipated marriage and appointing Juliana as Cort's guardian in the event of his death. Then the lawyer handed them copies of the prenuptial agreement.

Though Hunter's lawyer had urged her to seek her own representation to review the prenuptial agreement before signing, Juliana had dismissed his suggestion. “That won't be necessary. My fiancé is a man of his word and that's more binding than a piece of paper for me.”

Juliana couldn't interpret the appraising look Hunter shot her. She had no idea whether her comment had pleased or annoyed him, but watching his dark head bowed and the sharp concentration in his eyes as he read the legal document before signing it, brought a rush of conflicting emotions to her chest.

When she was little, her mother used to tell her, “Handsome is as handsome does.” Through the hot jab of tears pricking her eyes, Juliana doubted there was any man on earth more handsome than Hunter at this moment. As much as she hated to admit it, she was seriously in danger of feeling something for her husband-to-be that she had no business feeling. He treated her like a servant, expecting his orders to be obeyed without question. The agreement he was reading so seriously was a contract to him. Everything clear-cut and explained. No entanglements.

He'd keep his end of the deal and expect her to keep hers.

But that didn't stop her from wondering what background events had shaped Hunter's perspective on the world. What motivated a man with his wealth to go to such extremes to help others while protecting himself from involvement? Juliana suspected it was quite possible that beneath Hunter's cynicism about marriage in general, he valued love.

Once the papers at the lawyer's had been dispensed with they headed back to the apartment. But their plans changed en route when Hunter received a call on his cell phone from the BCI investigator who was assigned to Ross and Lexi's murder case. Hunter gave the address of the New York State Police's NYC troop installation to Marquise, then closed the limo's privacy window.

“Investigator Bradshaw needs to ask you some questions,” he explained quietly.

Juliana felt a quiver of anxiety that only increased when Hunter's strong fingers wrapped around her hand as if bracing her for bad news.

His gaze met hers, intractable as a stone wall. “He knows about Cort.”

“He what?” Anger flared in her heart like a struck match. She yanked her hand from his. “You told him?”

His hands curled into fists on his knees. “We can't hide that kind of information from the police—not without facing charges for hindering a criminal investigation. And it's critical to the case. Investigator Bradshaw understands the sensitivity of the information. I have several retired BCI investigators on my payroll and they tell me I can trust Bradshaw.”